


when it's all over

by ironiccowboykink



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depersonalization, Depression, Dissociation, Guilt, Intrusive Thoughts, Irrational thoughts, Mild Self Harm, Pain, Phantom pain, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal thought based pain, Trauma, Violent Thoughts, a lot ooc, also seriously the suicide is strong, based on me uwu, death is really hard, definitely a little ooc, i cant really explain it well, just a warning, like if youre easily triggered or have empathetic pains DON'T READ THIS!, my black ass is projecting so fuck u, this is based on my personal experiences, this is going to be heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: When my grandmother and aunt died, this is what I went through. Which is why it makes absolutely no fucking sense. Lmao.





	when it's all over

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If you must weep, do it right here at my bed as I sleep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117987) by [Justafewthingstosay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay/pseuds/Justafewthingstosay). 



> When my grandmother and aunt died, this is what I went through. Which is why it makes absolutely no fucking sense. Lmao.

Aubrey rocks back and forth in the corner, knees pressed so closely to her chest she feels like she's suffocating. Her wrists ache as she holds them, straining from her pulling on them both simultaneously while being trapped against the weight of her body. Her nails dig crescents into the flesh. She's wheezing, gasping, crying, trying to focus on anything but the all encompassing pain in her wrists from nonexistent cuts. She thinks about making them. It would be easier that way. The pain would be real that way. And she could finally bleed out all of her dirty blood, infected with Ned, and her fingers start to twitch into the veins of her wrists as she thinks about it more. Her stomach roils, churns angrily and tries to flip itself over, every which way it could possibly manage, and Aubrey dreams of it rending itself inside out, her acid bleeding and eating her out from the insides and ending all her suffering. Her head swims from all the air she's not getting.

(Worth it.)

"Ned!" she cries, but nothing leaves her mouth. Her throat is so swollen from crying it hurts, and she swallows helplessly past each fresh wave of pain, rocking even faster. She wants to bleed out all over the floor. Bleed out all of her bad blood, because if she gets rid of the blood she will empty herself of all the guilt. She killed Ned. She's bad for this. She killed Ned. She told him to leave and his stupid heroic heart made him come back. And he wrote the fucking letter she can't read. Ned thinks he's bad but he's wrong. Aubrey's bad, she's the bad one, she killed Ned, she told him to go, and never come back, all over a stupid necklace, and she never once stopped to think how could Ned 

_Ned would never_

How could she possibly

How could she possibly think Ned would ever kill anyone?

(Fucking idiot.)

She remembers the night so clearly. She fell unconscious, didn't she? Her fire, her hands, and she wishes that fire would burn her. It would be what she deserves. she's bad. shes so bad. bad. bad. Skin peeling back, shaking from pain, flesh glistening and pink. Fire. Fire could fix it, just this one time.

_(Bad.)_

she wants to speak. she can't. can't speak. only terrible things come out her mouth. horror. fire. vitriol. fire from her hands and mouth. pain, an end, chaos. that's all she is. pain and badness and sad. she can't speak because her words killed ned and her magic killed her mother.

The pendant burns against her skin and Aubrey wants to rip it off but she can't. She has to keep her hands trapped. She can't do magic like this and she can't slice her wrists like she wants to. It burns so badly. Is this what her mother felt?

The death of Ned weighs heavy on her mind; it had to be her fault. No way it couldn't be. Pigeon wasn't aiming for him. Pigeon didn't mean it. But she. She should have been there. She was so busy playing _pretend hero_ with the crystal she left Ned to die alone. Without her. Without saying sorry.

(She never even got to say sorry.)

That's what hurts the most.

(Selfish.)

How could her friends love her like this?

(They don't.)

Her lips press shut tight, but salty tears still slip past them. Aubrey's eyes are wide open, burning dry from the air, and she thinks suddenly she could cut her hands off. If she did that, she could never hurt anybody with them ever again. For the first time in hours, she slowly stops rocking. Turns her head to the jackknife laying absent on the table. It's not big enough, but when has any emergency amputation ever had a big enough knife? The pain pulses in a circle now, right where Aubrey imagines she'd cut, and she can see her detached hands so visibly for a second she nearly wretches.

This isn't normal.

(Neither is being a murderer.)

She needs help.

(Fucking bitch. Scum like you don't get _anything_. Kill yourself.)

She's starting to feel nervous. Like she has to do this right now or nothing will ever be right. But she still can't breathe, and the world is swimming, and moving feels wrong. She has to stay here or else she might die. What if she dies? Will Ned be waiting there for her? Or is there no true salvation in heaven?

Aubrey sobs. A sound slips past her lips and in her fear her knees jerk automatically and snap across her teeth; she reels from the pain, crying only harder, and then she remembers her wrists again, and this time she wails. They hurt so much it's almost too much to bear. Is this her punishment for killing Ned? This is terrible. Awful. But she grits her aching teeth and bears it because Lord only knows how much pain Ned was in when he died. She can handle this, at least.

She thinks of the funeral. It was lovely and sad and not enough townspeople showed up. They were too confused and betrayed to make an appearance and Aubrey honestly didn't fucking care. She would have knocked on every goddamn door if it meant Ned got the funeral he was meant to have, full of life and love and laughter.

It rained.

Instead it rained. 

The world didn't care about Ned Chicane.

And Aubrey couldn't say she did, because when they needed each other most, she turned him away. She told him to leave.

Oh, he left alright.

Her hands don't belong to her. They stretch infinitely into the sky, fingers knobbly and long and she doesn't feel anything about them anymore. She doesn't feel anything. She casts them, her feelings and her fingers, away, and floats far, far away from her aching body, sinking into the clouds. She can't see Ned from here. Maybe she'll never see Ned from anywhere. Maybe murderers never see their victims. She leaves her empty husk behind and watches her body rock, rock, rock.

"Ned, please come back," she manages to mouth. It feels like a terrible crime, and that her lips are chained to hundred-pound weights. The entire universe rubs against her hurt shoulders. She tries to shrug the weight away.

(I'm not going anywhere.)

"Ned," she concedes, nodding like that made sense. Fear and guilt still pulses along her body with her heartbeat, sludgy and disgusting, just like her.

(Ned.) Her mind agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there go my spoons.


End file.
